


Awakening || The Worst Insert You'll Never Read

by SewerRatTerrier



Category: Salad Fingers
Genre: Developing Friendships, Friendship, Nonbinary Character, Other, POV Second Person, Post-Apocalypse, Reader-Insert, Romantic Friendship, Roommates, Self-Indulgent, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:53:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23124289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SewerRatTerrier/pseuds/SewerRatTerrier
Summary: When you wake up from a long nap Indiana Jones style, everything has gone to shit. All hope seems lost until you strike up a friendship with a strange green fellow.
Relationships: Salad Fingers/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 38





	Awakening || The Worst Insert You'll Never Read

**Author's Note:**

> Look at me, doing this instead of the other fic that people actually want. Not expecting anyone to read this, let alone enjoy it, but haters can suck my entire ass because I love and miss Sal. He's a sweetie.

Your eyes pry themselves open with the effort of an ancient, long disused metal door, much like the one directly in front of you. A suffocating sense of claustrophobia presses in from all sides of your makeshift tomb—which, for all intents and purposes should have been permanent. Yet somehow, you get the distinct feeling you're not dead. Perhaps it's the clawing hunger in the pit of your abdomen, or perhaps it's the light leaking in from the sides of the door. Whatever the case, if you're not dead, you need to get out. It's a daunting task; you hadn't exactly been Hercules before everything went down, and in your weakened state even less so. Still, you have to try. And so, with your back to the wall, you brace your legs against the door and push with every ounce of your strength that’s left.

When the door gives, you fall. You fall straight down on your ass at first, then you crawl out on your knees. The sun’s light is muted behind thick midday clouds, but it still scorches your retinas. Your feeble arms shake with the effort of supporting your body before you collapse face-first in the parched, dusty earth. Vision reeling and blurring, the last thing you see before you black out is a tall, lean figure approaching.

The second time you wake up is much more pleasant than the first. You find yourself lying on a lumpy mattress on a dirt floor, a thread-bare sheet of cloth draped across your body as if you were a corpse. This thing may have been a blanket at some point, but it’s tattered nearly beyond recognition now. You shrug it aside as you sit up and look around, taking in the barren room. The only other furniture is a large boiler and a cardboard box in the corner. There’s a door on the other end of the room and it’s slightly open, natural light coming through from another room in what you assume is a house. A shadow goes past periodically. You make your way over to the door and slowly push it open with a creak.

A lone man—you think it’s a man anyway—is in the next room bustling around. The door’s creak apparently alerts him to your presence. He pauses and turns, flexing inhumanly long, misshapen phalanges. He’s bald with sickly green skin and deep sunken eyes with red irises. At the sight of you, he gasps slowly and grins; his teeth are rotted. You try not to instinctively cringe at the sight of him; this is the man who saved you, after all. Or kidnapped you. It makes little difference at this point.

“Ohh...! Our guest is awake...!” the man says, almost to himself. Despite his grotesque appearance, his voice is surprisingly soft and soothing. “Got your beauty sleep, did you...?”

You nod, still trying to process all this.

“I... I bet you’re hungry, aren’t you...?”

You nod again, and your stomach growls on cue. Although you’re pensive about accepting food from this man, it’s not like you have much of a choice. It’s this or starve to death. There’s a rickety-looking table nearby with two chairs in similar condition. Your host gestures for you to sit as he busies himself preparing the meal. You sit.

“I must say, I was a bit surprised to find you,” the man comments as he sets a bowl of something in front of you along with a spoon. He sits at the opposite end of the table. “An icebox is a rather queer spot to play hide and seek...”

You prod the substance in the bowl with the spoon. You can’t really tell what it is; it seems like some sort of thick pasty goo.

“Oh, oh no...” says the man, his forehead crinkling with worry as he watches you. “Don’t you like porridge...? I made it especially for you...”

At risk of upsetting your host, you force yourself to shovel a spoonful into your mouth. It’s surprisingly not bad—it’s even pleasantly warm. Maybe a little bland though, like plain oatmeal. You eat a few more spoonfuls and give your host a polite smile. He smiles back.

“My name is Salad Fingers,” he says after a moment. “What’s yours...? Could it be... Window? Window Willoughby?”

You shoot Salad an odd look and shake your head. What kind of a name is that? And for that matter, what kind of a name is Salad Fingers? You get the feeling he doesn’t get out much.

“Ohh,” he sounds disappointed, and you almost feel bad for correcting him.

You tell him your name. 

Salad’s eyes widen, like he can’t believe you’re actually speaking. “Why, that’s such a lovely name...! And what a well-mannered house guest you are...”

“Thanks,” you say, smiling again. “Also thanks for the food, and for rescuing me. I promise I won’t stay too long.”

Salad tilts his head with a little frown, raising one of those freakish fingers to his chin in contemplation. “Leaving so soon? I thought we’d been getting on quite well... I-I’d been so excited to meet a new friend...”

Food now gone, you’re getting up to leave, but that gives you pause. You don’t know him very well, having met only minutes before, but something about this strange man tugs at your heartstrings. He must be so lonely all by himself in the middle of nowhere.

“It’s not like that!” You quickly insist as you’re walking out the door, Salad trailing behind. “You seem really nice and I’d love to be your friend but it’s just—I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

Salad’s eyes grow watery and he sniffs, wiping away unshed tears. “Our new friend is so kind, so polite...! But,” he pauses. “Where will you go?”

“I don’t know,” you confess. You hadn’t thought about that. Now that he asks, you realize you can’t go back to your old home, that’s for sure.

“Hmm,” Salad seems to muse for a moment before brightening up. “Why don’t you just stay here? It will be no trouble...”

You weigh your options. It’s a choice of wandering a desolate wasteland, constantly scrounging for food and companionship (to say nothing of any wild animals or other dangers there may be out there) or staying with Salad. The choice seems obvious.

“...Okay,” you tell him. “If you’re sure, then... I’ll stay.”

“Ahh, how wonderful...!” Salad exclaims in his own quiet way, guiding you back inside with a gentle touch. You suppress an unnerved shudder; those long fingers are going to take some getting used to. “Let me show you my rusty spoon collection...”


End file.
